In the Rain
by elfgirl931
Summary: Sort of angsty drabble set a few years after the night Fenris and Hawke shared together. Hawke goes out continually at night trying to drown her sorrows in fighting. Fenris doesn't know how to move forward. Awkwardness ensues.


In the Rain

Hawke felt that she had to go out at night. Sleep still brought the dreams of her mother tottering towards her on stiff, rotting legs, her head stitched onto her body, and those milky gray eyes staring at her. It had been almost a year since that terrible day, but she still found herself lying awake every night in her silent, lonely mansion, by turns restless and exhausted.

Only fighting could bring Hawke anywhere close to peace. The flash of her daggers, her quick footsteps and shadowed movements were a simple rhythm that required no thought. _At least I'm doing something good_, she would think each night. _Ridding the streets of thugs is better than lying uselessly in bed_.

Tonight, the filth of Kirkwall was temporarily washed away by a cool, gentle summer rain. Hawke welcomed the freshness it brought to the air and the way it cleansed the stench of the city, at least temporarily. By the time she got to the Hanged Man, the steady fall of raindrops had soaked her to the skin. She slicked back her dark hair and shook some of the water out of it as she walked in the door. Varric and Isabella lounged at their usual table near the fire. They both grinned lazily at her as she approached them.

"Well, look what came crawling out of the rain, Varric," drawled Isabella, pulling out a chair for Hawke. "Honestly, can't you give it a rest for one night? Tell me you haven't got a mission for us right now." She gave Hawke her best pouty face.

"No Isabella, I'm just going for a walk tonight. I thought I'd stop by and see if either of you wanted to come along." Hawke straddled the chair and leaned her chin on the back rest, watching her friends expectantly.

Varric looked up from his papers, pausing the scratching of his quill. "I think that by 'walk' you mean 'make the Dog Lords in Hightown beg for your mercy,' am I right?" he asked sardonically.

Hawke shrugged with a smile. "You know me too well, Varric. So what do you think?"

"Sorry, love," answered Isabella, covering her mouth as she yawned. "Not interested in getting wet tonight. At least not in the way that _you're_ talking about," she added saucily as she got up and sauntered towards the bar. "Maybe next time."

Varric was already shaking his head when Hawke turned back to him. "Maybe you should listen to her, Hawke," he said with unexpected gentleness. "Take a rest. You've been going non-stop for weeks now, don't think we haven't noticed. And besides, it's pouring out here. You'll have me clucking like a mother hen when you catch your death of cold."

This time Hawke's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's just drizzling outside. And I'm fine."

"I know I'm the last person who should be saying this, but it isn't healthy to go looking for trouble the way you've been doing lately. Come on, just stay here and have a drink or two on me. I can tell you about the time when Bianca and I were stuck in the Frostback mountains in the dead of winter with no flint and tinder."

Hawke was already standing up and pushing her chair back towards the table. "Another time." The dwarf half rose from his seat to follow, but she waved him back. "It's all right, I'll go find Aveline or someone. Goodbye." She was out the tavern door before he could say anything else.

She directed her steps towards Hightown as the rain pattered softly across her body. She really had intended to go to the Barracks and see if Aveline was in, but she changed her mind in the mansion district. _I can take care of myself. If no one wants to get wet in the rain I'll just blow off some steam by myself_, she thought with uncharacteristic grumpiness.

Her first victim came hurtling around the corner just a few minutes later: a large, slavering mabari hound with soaking wet fur. Hawke smelled it before she saw it, and turned her shoulder towards it as it leapt at her throat, using its momentum to hurl it to the ground. Her dagger ended its life quickly.

Two Dog Lords thundered into the square, weapons drawn. "You'll pay for that, you little bitch," one shouted over the rain. Hawke stared them down until they came running at her, waiting till the last possible second before their swords bit into her neck, and then lunged forward, knocking them both to the ground with her outstretched daggers. The rain quickly washed their blood away from the pavement and her daggers, and she walked on without a backward glance.

Two more groups tried to ambush Hawke as she made her way uptown, and she made sure they bled for it. She always waited for them to attack first, and never killed them unless it was to save her own life, but in the pauses between bouts, she knew deep down that Varric was right: she was looking for trouble.

_Don't go looking for trouble unless you want to find it, Kyra. _Leandra's voice sounded in her head, bringing a little twinge of pain to her heart. Her mother had said this a thousand times while she was growing up, and somehow she had never learned.

"Well, mother, I certainly found some trouble tonight," she muttered to herself. She stood in the middle of a deserted Hightown square, with the rain falling just as steadily as ever, and surrounded by a ring of angry Dog Lords and their snarling mabari hounds. Hawke crossed her daggers in front of her and dropped into a fighting crouch, rolling deftly through the legs of one gang member. As she rolled, she pulled a smoke bomb out of the pouch at her hip and let it go. She found her rhythm of flashing knives and quick feet, moving through the smoke like a ghost. The Dog Lords dropped one by one, their coughing cut off abruptly by her daggers.

When the smoke cleared, Hawke leaned against a wall and tipped up her face towards the cool rain, letting it wash away her adrenaline. She suddenly felt exhausted right down to her bones and wished she'd never come out in the first place. _ I won't find peace here._

….

Fenris sat listening to the patter of rain outside the open window, staring into his fireplace. He enjoyed the cooling breezes that broke the oppressive humidity hanging over Kirkwall, but the rain seemed to prevent anything exciting happening. It was too much of a bother to go to the Hanged Man for Wicked Grace, and it was surely far too much to hope for that Hawke would turn up with a mission. His reading lesson wasn't for another three days. Not that he was counting.

Just the brief thought of Hawke was enough to bring her image clearly into his head: her glossy dark hair curling around her shoulders, her brown eyes watching him quietly and intently, her surprised laughter at something Varric would say, her clever, animated hands…. Inevitably Fenris then thought of her lips and then the soft skin of her neck, and _that spot_ on her shoulder where he had kissed her that night, which further drew his memory to the way she'd sighed his name and clung to him with her fingers threaded in his hair….

_Fasta vass_! Nearly three years later and he was still reliving that night. No matter how much he ignored the memories and tried to act normally around Hawke, he knew he would never be the same. He wished beyond anything to be close to her again, but held himself at an agonizing distance – unable to mend what he had done to her, but unable to leave her side.

Fenris stood and crossed the room to one of the windows, leaning on the sill and thrusting his arm out into the rain. He splashed some cool rainwater on his reddened face and ears, trying to push away the memory of Hawke's warm skin pressed flush against his.

After shaking his head a few times, Fenris heard faint shouts cutting through the patter of the rain. He craned his neck out the window, mildly interested in who would be disturbing the haughty peace and quiet of Hightown at night.

…,,,,,…,,,,,,,. …. … …..

Hawke pushed away from the wall, all of the fight draining out of her. She couldn't remember feeling so tired in her life, and the cool rain had raised goose bumps all over her body. Before she could leave the cover of the awning and begin the walk home, the quiet creak of an opening door stopped her. Her hands immediately went to her daggers, and she whirled to face whoever was coming out.

Unfortunately she hadn't planned for her wet hair whirling with her and slapping over her eyes. Startled, she took one step too many and collided with a very solid piece of armor. She pushed herself back with all her strength, but a pair of strong hands grabbed her upper arms and steadied her before letting go. Hawke dashed her hair out of her eyes to see Fenris standing in his doorway, regarding her impassively.

Laughter bubbled up in her throat at the absurdity of the situation. She'd had no idea that she'd come so far uptown, let alone stopped to rest in front of _Fenris's_ house – the last person she wanted to face right now. Surely he'd think that she was trying to get his attention, or that she was too pathetic to leave him alone.

"Fenris," she said numbly, unable to think of anything else to say. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, and she wanted nothing more to sink into the earth, if nothing else so he would stop _looking_ at her like that.

"Hawke," he responded, his voice as level as ever. He looked over her shoulder to the carnage in the square. "I ought to have known it was you out here."

"That's me. Just follow the trail of bodies," she said with an attempt at levity. She smoothed her hair back in the moment or two of uncomfortable silence. "I suppose I should go."

"Wait…. Come out of the rain and warm yourself."

Hawke was sure her ears had stopped working. "What?"

"I merely said… you should not be about tonight." Fenris seemed determined to rub all of the hair off the back of his neck, and a flush was rising on his cheeks.

"I won't bother you, Fenris. I swear I didn't even know this was your house, I didn't mean to come this far uptown – "

"I insist," he interrupted, taking hold of her upper arm again and guiding her firmly into the dry mustiness of the mansion. The sound of the rain was immediately muffled when he shut the door behind them, and he let go of her arm in the same motion. Hawke almost didn't notice the way his hand clenched in on itself after letting go of her.

….. …. …..

Her skin was cool and still wet from the rain. Fenris couldn't imagine why this was so significant to him, unless it was to compare it with the last time he'd touched her. That night, her skin had been warm, even bordering on hot in some places. He closed his eyes, willing the memories away – there was no reason to think of _that night_ in Hawke's presence. His hand clenched shut for a moment, almost as though it could crush the next treacherous thought that crept into his mind: thinking about the ways he could warm her again.

They ascended the stairs in silence, so that Fenris could hear the water squelching out of Hawke's boots and dripping out of her hair and clothing. When they reached his rooms, he handed her a towel that had been hanging on the back of a chair. Like most of his household items, the towel was one that she had given him years ago.

The grateful smile she gave him stopped the elf in his tracks. He could not fathom why he continued to allow her such power over him – if he had any sense he would have left Kirkwall long ago. And yet after almost three years he still followed her faithfully, content to stand in her shadow. He did not dare again to grasp at the happiness that was within his reach.

But Hawke wouldn't allow it. She pulled him back into the light time and time again, refusing to allow him to slink along behind her. Moreover, she never punished him for what he'd done, never treated him differently than before. He saw sadness in her eyes when she thought no one could see, but she never asked him why he'd left. They never spoke of _that night_.

"Fenris… Fenris, you're a thousand miles away tonight, aren't you?" Hawke stood in front of the fireplace, smiling her quiet smile and then suddenly she threw the wet towel at him. He caught it out of reflex and found himself smiling back at her. Almost immediately he caught himself and went to his makeshift woodpile (some of it actual logs but mostly broken furniture), picking up some of the wood and throwing it into the fireplace. When he turned again she was sitting on a bench, looking at the flames thoughtfully.

"Should I ask what you were doing out in the rain tonight?" he asked her quietly, staring into the fireplace himself. "Or do I want to know?"

"It's hard for me to sleep alone," she answered absently, her cheeks coloring after she realized what she had said. "I mean… you know, after…"

Fenris realized he was gripping his seat hard enough to splinter the wood. Was she truly going to mention what he thought she was?

"… my mother dying." He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Of course she wasn't talking about _that_. Why would she?

"It's just that things are so quiet without her. I mean, minus Sandal and Bohdan, of course. I just keep glancing at her room thinking she'll come out of it like nothing's wrong. Or worse, that she'll… she'll look like…"

"I'm sorry," Fenris said quietly, wishing he could spare her the memories.

"Not your fault," she answered, smiling at him again. Smiling as though she wasn't in pain, as though none of it affected her. How could she still be so kind to him, to _everyone _after all that she had lost? More to the point, how could she still stand to _look _at him after all that he put her through?

Hawke stood abruptly, stretching her arms above her hand and standing on her toes for a moment. "Felt good to sit down for a bit," she said brightly. "Now that I'm dry I'm ready to get myself back home."

She was halfway to the stairs before Fenris caught up with her. He took hold of her arm in the same place she'd touched him those years ago, right at the inside of her elbow. Her still cool skin felt like silk. "Hawke…" What would he say? _I'm so sorry for your loss. I know what it's like to lose someone – I lost you. _Maybe even _please stay with me._

Her mask cracked and for a second he saw all the pain written on her face, threatening to spill out. "I'll be fine, Fenris. I always am." Deftly she slipped out of his grip and was out the door before he could say any of the things he wanted to say, the things he didn't know how to say.


End file.
